


Just a Scratch

by Le_Tournesol



Series: Sunflower’s H/C Fics [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Lance is a good boyfriend, M/M, Protective!Lance, concussion, established klance, hurt!keith, who is very concerned about Keith’s latent suicidal tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 17:17:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17812148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Tournesol/pseuds/Le_Tournesol
Summary: “Shit,” Lance murmurs as his eyes follow the impressive trail of blood.Hunk pales as he takes in the sight, “That’s... that doesn’t look good.”“Dammit, Keith,” Pidge groans. She pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, “I’m going to kill your stupid boyfriend, Lance. He told me it was just a scratch.”... or Lance hauls his wayward boyfriend to medical and worries about the reason behind Keith’s risky behavior.





	Just a Scratch

“Shit,” Lance murmurs as his eyes follow the impressive trail of blood.

Hunk pales as he takes in the sight, “That’s... that doesn’t look good.” 

“Dammit, Keith,” Pidge groans. She pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration, “I’m going to kill your stupid boyfriend, Lance. He told me it was just a scratch.” 

The last sounds of the battle have faded, but no one relaxes. When one of their strongest opponents had broken away, Keith had followed in spite of everyone’s loud protest. 

It was clearly a trap, Pidge had insisted, and Keith was already hurt. In response, Keith assured her he was all right, and he promised he would be smart about it. He’d taken off without another word. 

Now they were staring at innocuous puddles of his blood. 

“We need to find him,” Hunk says aloud, which seems to jar Lance from his stupor and Pidge from her memory. “Like now. He’s gonna need a pod.” 

Lance nods, and they begin to follow the disturbing yellow brick road to their wayward Paladin. Worrying his lip, Lance holds his bayard to his chest while Pidge checks her scanner for heat signatures. They appear to be in the clear, but Lance continues to survey the landscape. He needs to focus on something other than the fact that Keith, wounded, stupid Keith, ran off after the bad guy and then stopped responding to them roughly five minutes before they could take out the last sentry. 

Otherwise, Lance is going to McFreaking Lose It. 

They could’ve just let Big Bad go, or someone else could’ve tracked him down. Why did Keith compulsively sprint headlong into danger at the slightest provocation? Heedless of variables, like strategy, injury, or otherwise, Keith just couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to these moments, which always made Lance a nervous wreck. 

Seriously. He was going to end up with a complex.

“You already have a complex,” Pidge snorts, which makes Lance realize he’s been babbling out loud. 

Hunk gives Lance a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, “He’s probably fine, right? Before his line went dead, he told us he took out his guy.”

“Keith’s not gonna get killed by some nameless villain. He’s too stupid,” Pidge adds. “Keith’s greatest adversary is Keith. He probably just made a risky move trying to get back faster and fell off a cliff.”

Lance chokes and Hunk thumps him on the back and turns his reproachful gaze on Pidge, who throws up her hands as if to say,  _ What? I’m not wrong.  _

During the brief exchange, Lance’s brain supplies helpful images of Keith’s broken and battered form. Keith, motionless at the bottom of a ravine, helmet cracked, unconscious. Keith, impaled on the limb of a tree, sluggishly bleeding out. Keith, trapped in a rocky gorge with an agonizingly painful broken leg and no way to escape. 

Lance gulps. It’s too easy to imagine. Keith’s given him enough material during their space-capades.  He knows exactly what Keith’s anguished cry sounds like, how he sucks air through his teeth when he’s in pain, what he looks like when his skin has adopted the pallor of bone after he’s lost too much blood, how he holds himself when he’s trying to hide an injury, the rough grate of his voice when he’s suffering, how he shakes when he’s pushed himself too far. 

It’s a terrifying sort of pattern.

And it’s not new.

Sure, Lance and Keith had only been official for a few movements, but intimacy had shown Lance the cracks in Keith’s metaphorical armor. Their closeness brought Keith’s reckless behavior into sharp relief. Lance had never liked it, ever, but now that he could see more of Keith...

This isn’t just a bad habit, the product of hotheaded behavior. 

It’s so much worse. 

A lump rises in Lance’s throat as the picture solidifies.

This... This can’t be ignored. 

He hates himself a little bit for only seeing it now.

The last few movements, phoebs, and more cycle like a home movie in his mind. 

Jealousy, admiration, crush, fixation, their days in the Garrison. Rejection, tension, competition, provocation, begrudging affection, their early days on the Castle. 

The natural way they came together, like ocean waves lapping at the shore. 

Denial, anger, frustration, Lance didn’t want this to happen because he was  _ afraid _ . Years of circling Keith made him wary, even though Lance wanted more.

Lance was so determined to put his feelings in a locked box and chuck it out the airlock that he didn’t even let himself open up to Keith. 

But Lance couldn’t fight what pulled them together. 

And the tide won. 

Soon they always ended up in the same room, then on the same couch. It was so easy to get comfortable, Keith nodding off with his head on Lance’s shoulder, Lance pressing the length of their thighs together, the two of them chatting or sparring or joking or watching the same movie for the umpteenth time. One evening on a dimly lit observation deck under the light of the stars, talking became gentle kissing. 

Lance aches. He’s been watching Keith for  _ years _ . How did he never put it together before today? 

Lance is so distracted by his thoughts he doesn’t notice Hunk and Pidge bickering, or Hunk nudging the younger teen in an effort to get her to apologize, so when she waves her hand in his face while calling his name, he startles, “Huh?” 

Hunk elbows Pidge again as if to say,  _ See. Look. He’s freaking out.  _

Pidge clears her throat and adjusts her glasses, “I’m sure Keith’s fine, man.”

Regardless of her words and their easy delivery, she increases her pace because she doubts Lance will feel better until he’s seen Keith, alive and well. The boys naturally fall into place beside her. 

Unsurprisingly, Keith manages to find them before they can find him.

A twig snaps in the distance, and the Garrison Trio are immediately on the alert. They race to the nearest rock for cover, and Hunk activates his bayard while Pidge checks her scanner. Lance raises his bayard to eye level and looks through his scope.

Then he drops it limply back to his side.

Keith, bloody but alive, is hobbling toward them on unsteady feet. His helmet his nowhere to be found, but his bayard is clipped to his side. 

“Keith!” Lance exclaims before darting forward to meet his boyfriend. Keith glances up at him and squints. He misjudges the distance and reaches out too soon, which causes him to lose his balance. Lance swears and manages to catch Keith awkwardly under his armpits before he can fully collapse. Lance huffs as he takes Keith’s weight, and Keith smooshes his face into Lance’s chest armor instead of trying to stand on his own. Lance lowers them both to the ground to inspect Keith for injuries. 

Some are obvious. 

Blood drips from a huge gash in Keith’s left arm, which Lance assumes is the  _ scratch _ Pidge mentioned. With no material to spare, Lance has no choice but to put his palm around it to stem the flow. 

Pidge and Hunk appear and crouch over them worriedly. Pidge gestures to Keith’s missing helmet, “Well, this explains his lack of response.”

Pidge gets down on one knee and starts a cursory medical scan on their most danger prone Paladin and then she groans, “He’s concussed.” 

“M’not concussed,” Keith argues from his place on the ground. His unfocused gaze and slurred speech isn’t convincing at all. 

“I don’t imagine the blood loss is helping,” Pidge adds. Lance pushes Keith’s long hair out of his face and takes in the clamminess and paleness of his skin. “Blood pressure is low and heart rate is above his normal range,” she continues. “He’s gonna need a transfusion before we can put him in a pod.” 

Hunk’s got his bayard at the ready as he keeps an eye on their surroundings, “Okay. I’m not detecting any enemy forces in the immediate area. But...” Hunk glances at them over his shoulder, “We gotta find his helmet.”

They all turn their attention on Keith, who’s not really in the sort of state that lends itself to being helpful. 

Lance tries anyway, “Baby? Keith.” It takes a second for him to really catch Keith’s wavering attention. Keith makes a questioning sound, so Lance continues, “Can you tell me what happened to your helmet?” 

“Yes.”

They wait, but he says no more. 

“Keith?”

“What?”

“Your helmet,” Lance hedges hopefully. 

“What about it?”

Lance fidgets and rubs his thumb over the back of Keith’s gloved hand to burn off nervous energy. He takes a deep breath, “Where’s your helmet, babe?”

“Oh,” Keith scrunches his brow, “I got hit in the head.” This is pretty obvious by now, but no one points it out to him. “Wait. I got hit... and the glass cracked. So I took it off. Then I got hit in the head.”

He flashes Lance a lopsided smile, and Lance is so gone for the boy bleeding in his lap that his heart decides to do barrel rolls in his chest. 

Pidge sighs, “I think that’s all we’re going to get out of him. Hunk and I will follow the breadcrumbs. Can you get him back to Blue by yourself?” 

Lance nods and maneuvers Keith around until he can get him situated on Lance’s back. 

For all his unconquerable strength, Keith is surprisingly light. Most of his ferocity comes from lean muscle, a lithe figure, and impressive agility.

And his ridiculous stamina.

Which is probably just some kind of latent suicidal tendency. 

Fuck. 

“You are in so much trouble, Kogane,” Lance mumbles as he stalks off for Blue, who sends a pulse of worry through their bond. 

It doesn’t take too long to get back to the cockpit. He settles Keith in the pilot’s seat and moves around the cabin to find bandages, which he wraps tightly around Keith’s bicep to staunch the bleeding. 

Their armor is already painted a sickening shade of red, but Lance would like to keep some of Keith’s blood inside his body, where it supposed to be. 

Lance carefully arranges Keith across his lap and then reaches over him to grasp the controls. 

“Stay awake,” Lance commands as Keith starts to drift off against his shoulder. 

“M’awake,” Keith protests.

“You’re a liar,” Lance counters, but his tone is fond, “Why did you go after that guy when you were hurt?”

Blue takes off, and Lance guides her back to the Castle with ease in spite of the precious cargo currently nestled in his lap. 

“M’fine,” Keith insists. “Got him.”

“I know you did, but someone got you first... and then he got you, too,” Lance points out as he directs Blue to the left. Lance sighs, “Any of us could’ve handled him. Why did it have to be you?”

“S’better that way,” Keith buries his nose in Lance’s neck. It’s cold, and Lance pushes Blue a little faster in response. 

“What does that even mean?” Lance fights to keep the anger out of his voice. It won’t help them now. “How is this  _ better _ ?” 

“Better me than you, or Pidge, or Hunk, ‘or Llura, or Sh’ro, or C’ran, or Shiro, or you, or Pidge, or...”

Lance pats him on the leg to stop his rambling. It works. Keith furrows his brow and stares at Lance’s hand, “I think you’re bleeding.”

Lance groans, “It’s your blood, Mullet.  _ You’re _ bleeding.”

“Oh...okay,” Keith considers this information and decides, “S’better that way.”

Lance feels a muscle in his jaw jump. He kind of wants to shake Keith, but knows it’s a bad idea. One, he’s injured. Two, it’s just not good boyfriend behavior. 

“You mad?” Keith asks in a small voice.

“So mad,” Lance answers honestly, “also worried, and scared, and sad, but mad is there.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Are you?”

There’s a long pause, and then Keith whispers, “No. S’better that way.” 

Lance hands tighten on the controls until the skin over his knuckles stretches taut, “We’re talking about this when you’re not actively bleeding out, okay? Or concussed. And whatever else you might be hiding.” 

Keith makes a noncommittal sound, and Lance sighs heavily and pushes Blue a little faster. He briefs Coran during the flight, and the Altean promises to have a bed and pod ready. 

Lance figures the bed will be used for fluids; the pods take  _ ages _ replenish fluids. If it’s possible, it’s better to take care of any transfusions outside of cryogenic sleep. They’ll just have to start the healing process the old fashioned way and then let he pod work its magic on any extensive damage. 

When they dock, Lance doesn’t give Keith a chance to even pretend to be able to walk on his own. He scoops him up like a princess and carries his ass to the infirmary, where Coran’s got a portable table set up with supplies. Lance sits Keith up on the nearby bed and holds his hand while Coran putters around them. Lance strips Keith out of the bulky plates of the armor and pulls his undersuit down to his waist. Keith shivers, so Lance grabs the spare blanket and wraps it around his shoulders as Coran approaches them. 

Keith zones out while Coran examines him, but he doesn’t let go of Lance. Once Coran’s sure there’s no internal bleeding or more pressing issues, he cleans the wound, applies a local anesthetic, and stitches Keith’s ruined skin back together neatly to prevent further blood loss. He dresses it in gauze and then sets up the equipment for a transfusion and grabs a bag from their stock. Coran chatters as he disinfects the crook of Keith’s elbow and then pushes the needle into his skin. He gets the vein on the first time, he always does, and then he lists off Keith’s less obvious injuries, which includes bruised ribs from a failed block and a badly sprained ankle. 

Lance glowers softly at the top of Keith’s head at the news, and then Coran excuses himself with a promise or return within an hour. 

While the bag drains, Lance tugs off the rest of Keith’s flight suit and dumps it into the corner. It’s tacky with blood and will need go through the fancy Altean laundry system.

Lance uses a damp cloth to wash the remaining filth from Keith’s pale skin and then helps him pull the cryo-suit over his hips. 

Satisfied, Lance tucks the blanket back around Keith before working off his own dirty armor, stripping to his underwear, and then he finally takes a spot beside Keith on the bed and lets himself lean back against the pillows. 

He closes his eyes and feels the exhaustion wash over him like a strong undercurrent. Whatever had kept him afloat through the battle and the aftermath was leaving his system, and he wants to curl up and sleep for a week. Different pieces and parts of him ache, and he knows his back is going to be stiff for a few days. He wishes he’d thought to ask for the alien equivalent of ibuprofen. Or a pouch of water because his mouth is so fucking dry. He’s not doing so well at ignoring the headache that’s beating a staccato tattoo against the inside of his skull. And he can feel the sweat that mats the root of his hair, and it’s just a  _ gross _ feeling and he’s pretty sure that he didn’t get all of Keith’s blood off himself. 

And he smells like ass. 

But Keith doesn’t smell any better, and the tiredness is somehow taking the edge off the discomfort. 

Keith mumbles sleepily and rolls onto his side. He ends up pressed lengthwise against Lance’s body and proceeds to tuck his head against the taller boy’s shoulder. With arms that possess all the strength and dexterity of a limp noodle, Keith fusses softly until he manages to get the blanket over both of them. 

Then Keith makes a content little noise, and Lance feels his heart threaten to crack because  _ Keith keeps needlessly throwing himself into danger.  _ Doesn’t he know that he’s precious? Doesn’t he know that Lance loves him so much that he feels like Keith is a physical need, like air or water or sunshine? That the team would be devastated if something happened to him? That no one wants to see him hurt? Doesn’t he know that he matters?

Doesn’t he know that this isn’t  _ better _ ?  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Not my favorite, but figured I’d still post it. Quantity leads to quality, I guess?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> [tumblr](http://www.sunflower-le-tournesol.tumblr.com).


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